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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two best friends, Michael and Lewis, need to withdraw money from the local bank. When something terrible happens.

Submitted: May 30, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 30, 2015



“Lewis, seriously get your ass out of bed,” Michael said, throwing a foam football in Lewis’ general direction.

Lewis made a noise that can only be described as a mix between a hawk screeching and the noise a walrus would make if you punched it in the gut.

“Dammit, Lewis,” Michael murmured, checking himself out in the mirror. It was approximately 12:30 in the afternoon as Michael began his morning routine. His routine consisted of looking in the mirror, smelling himself, and if he smelt particularly bad he might just put on some deodorant. Michael checked himself out, he was looking good with his short raggedy brown hair resting atop his head. “Lewis!” he yelled.

“Gah!” Lewis screeched as he fell out of his bed and landed face first with a thud.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Lewis groaned.

“That's the spirit, get up,” Michael boasted as he walked over to the floor and sat him up against his bed. Lewis looked into Michael’s brown eyes with morning hatred that would fade away within the hour, or as soon as he gets over the awfulness of waking up.

“Why?” Lewis spat with no emotion in his pale, blue-eyed face, just annoyance. Lewis was not a morning person, or in this case, afternoon.

“Because, Dipwad,” Michael said, shaking Lewis’ shoulders. “I need to go to the bank to deposit some money I made this week. And guess who gets to be my ride?” Michael asked, throwing on a cheesy, game show host smile.

Lewis grumbled. “Me.”

“Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding!” Michael yelled. “You guessed it! Now got off of your lazy bum and lets get a move on! It’s half past Crunch-Time, baby!”

“The hell is Crunch-Time?” Lewis slurred.

“How should I know? Get up, you’re my ride.”

“Or you could learn how to drive like a normal twenty-five year old,” Lewis complained as he got up on his feet and wiped the slumber from his eyes. “Oh wait,” he smiled a dry smile. “You can’t see over the steering wheel.”

“Okay, haha, listen here turd-muffin. Just because I’m five-foot-seven and you’re barely six foot, does not give you the right to make short jokes.”

“Sure it does, shrimp.”

“...” Michael paused and stared into Lewis’ eyes not only penetrating his mind, but his entire soul, down to the very essence of his puny existence for at least a good ten seconds.

Lewis couldn’t contain his laughter as he proceeded to spit on everything that shouldn’t have spit on it by attempting to contain his cackle.

“You’re so bad. God, get dressed and get ready you look like a hobo.”

Lewis took his sweet time getting cleaned up and ready to go.

“Come on,” Michael shouted while banging on the bathroom door. “It’s 12:55 and it’ll take thirty minutes, if we are lucky, to get down to the bank and back. Which leaves us at 1:25 by the time we get back, I don’t want to starve to death.”

“Calm down, math-wiz,” Lewis gargled with a toothbrush in his mouth. “Just because you call yourself a smart guy and are getting a degree in mathematics, doesn’t mean you gotta hurt my brain with your mind powers.”

Michael could hear the air quotes around ‘degree in mathematics’ and chuckled.

“Just hurry up, please.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Lewis and Michael get down to the bottom floor of their apartment building and get inside Lewis’ beat up Sedan that was held together by duct tape and lost pride.

Two minutes had passed into the drive towards the bank.

Michael began to sing classic AC/DC. “Im back in black--”

“No,” Lewis snapped without even batting a freaking eyelash.


The friends rode through the city creating small talk on the way. They arrive at the city bank just in time for Michael to finish up his argument on what part of the chicken, chicken nuggets are really made of.

They walked into the bank and began to wait in line. The bank had white and gold tile flooring, along with five desks put behind glass for the bankers to work, although, only two of the desks actually had people working at them. Five minutes passed of waiting in line and it didn’t seem to be budging.

“Good God,” Lewis mumbled.

“No kidding,” agreed Michael. “This line is slower than my grandma on her Peloponnesian sleep medication.”


“What's wrong with the Pelops?”


“Whatever, man, its some good stuff, makes her super drowsy. The point is, this line needs to get moving.”

Suddenly, the doors opened with the sound of a bell and a man rushed in wearing all black clothing, a black ski-mask, while carrying two guns, and a gym bag hung around his back. A little cliché, but it’s what happened.

“Everybody get on the ground and don’t move a freaking muscle!” said the masked man.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” Michael said as he and Lewis went on the ground as instructed. The man made the two bankers working at the time keep their hands up to make sure the wouldn't hit the silent alarm, if they hadn't already. The man instructed everyone to keep their heads down, walk over to the wall, and put their hands up against it while facing it. There were only eight civilians in the bank, so they all did what they were told.

Lewis and Michael were standing side-by-side. "We can't just let this happen," Michael whispered. "We have to do something about it."

The man started yelling at the bank workers to open the bank’s safe.

"Are you fucking high!?" Lewis hissed.

The bankers were trying to reason with the robber and stall. The robber didn't like that one bit.

"No, I'm not high. Something needs to happen."

"Michael, I swear to god. Your plans never work."

"Yeah they do!"

"Hey," the robber spat with the voice of a lumberjack. "Shut the fuck up. If you try something, I'll end you."

Moments passed of silence aside from lumberjack man yelling at the bankers as they worked on the safe.

"My plans do to work," Michael mumbled.

"Dude," Lewis hissed as he glared at Michael. "Shut. Up."

"God, fine," Michael mumbled to himself. "If you don't want to help me save the day, your loss."

Lewis sighed. "Fine, what's the plan?"

"Oh, you actually want to help now?"

"Shut up, what's your plan?"


"Jesus Christ."

"Just give me a minute!"

The safe was open and the robber was filling his gym bag full of money.

"What the hell are you going to do? You're just a mathematician."

Suddenly, Michael realized what he had to do. His entire life has lead up to it. He remembered the one thing every one of his math teachers always said. Trust me, one day math will come in handy. Maybe someday you'll know how important math is.

Michael finally understood.

"What the hell are you doing with your face?" Lewis interrupted.

Michael realized he was drooling and cross-eyed. He fixed his face and looked over at Lewis. "I know what I have to do."

"Michael, don't do anything. He is almost done."

"I'm gonna do it."

"Michael, no."

"Michael, yes."

"God dammit, man. Fine, do it. I'm not helping."

"I don't need help," Michael smiled with confidence.

"Two plus two equals four," Michael murmured.

The robber took his attention away from the money for a split second.

"Nine times two is eighteen," Michael said a bit louder.

"Who is doing that?" The robber yelled, completely walking out of the safe and into the area with the hostages.

Michael grinned still facing the wall. "Thirty-five divided by seven is five.”

“Gah!” the man yelped and grabbed his head. “Whoever is doing that needs to stop if they know what's good for them!”

“Michael, are you trying to get us all killed?" Lewis spat.

Michael stepped away from the wall with the smuggest look in the world.

“Two-hundred-four divided by eight is twenty-eight.”

The robber collapsed down to one knee gasping. He starts to point his gun towards Michael. But Michael knew that the man’s mind was too simple to be able to take in all the knowledge Michael was spitting. It was easy to tell the robber didn’t finish school, and everybody knows if you don’t finish school, the smallest amounts of knowledge make your tiny brain hurt.

Michael took a step forward having no fear in his eyes. “The square root of 1,156 is thirty-four.”

The robber screamed in pain. “Stop!”

It was time for the final blow.

“If the diameter of a wheel is fifty centimeters, divide it by two to get the radius of twenty-five centimeters,” Michael was right in front of the wincing robber’s face. “You then take the value of Pi which is roughly 3.14, multiply it by two to get 6.28,” Michael was now yelling at the robbers face who was laying on the floor trying to block out the math, his eyes filled with rage. “Then you multiply the radius of the wheel, which is twenty-five centimeters, by 6.28 to get the circumference of the wheel which is,” he whispers into the robbers ear. “One-hundred-seven centimeters.”

The robber screams in pain as police bust through door to arrest him. Michael was then on known as the only person who ever actually used math outside of school.

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